Serenity in the Midst of Activity

That’s the theme of spring here in our woodland home … serenity in the midst of activity. Our 2002 move to the northern Wisconsin woods began as an escape into nature. Securely swaddled in 25 acres of trees we thought we were protected from outside intrusions. Still, “The only constant in life is change.” How many times have I heard that refrain?

How do we cope with change? Put simply, we learn to adapt.

The Town of Russell is the most recent location for expansion, development, and construction in the Bayfield area. This spring we start most days with the sound of moving equipment and heavy-machinery operating over a mile away up over the ridge behind our house. First trees were uprooted and removed. Now the gravel crusher has arrived. Pound-pound-pound-pound-pound. Screech-screech-screech. This project is scheduled for completion within four to six weeks assuming that operators can work from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. The next noisy step is yet to be revealed.

Every weekend night—and some weekday nights as well—we listen to bar noise from across the road (about a half-mile away). Summer was already a rowdy time as bar patrons moved outside to enjoy warmer temperatures while they conversed and drank, laughed and yelled. Live music shows entertained the entire area. One neighbor living on the hill behind us said that he could tell when a friend played at the bar because he could hear his instrument…. Our neighbor lives a mile beyond our house.

As of April 2009, we now enjoy occasional weekend evenings filled with loud, provocative music and hoots and hollers as the bar presents exotic dancing. Though we don’t attend these performances they still affect us. Initially there was a change in management. Now I hear that as clientele change, the bar atmosphere gets rougher and sleezier. But most significant, there's a subtle psychic energy shift that accompanies the sex trade business. Does anyone talk about it? No. For as long as no obvious physical changes can be identified (bar fights, wife beatings, public prostitution, etc.), it's not a problem.

How do I ignore the goings-on around me? How do I cope with the noise and continue on with my life, unaffected? How do I remember that someday, once again, I’ll be able to hear the songbirds without interruption and sense the presence of deer and bear by the light shuffle of their feet through the leaves and brush on the forest floor?

These questions bring me face-to-face with Taoist philosophy. I’m reminded that I’ve been practicing and teaching t’ai chi chih moving meditation for over 13 years. What do I do?

I emulate the Eastern Phoebes nesting above our kitchen window. These hardy souls build their nest under the eaves in order to share a protective overhang with their human hosts. In our case, the birds cope with Frances, Namaste, and my frequent exits and entrances through the front door right below their nest. Our kitchen window looks out on their nest as well. We also climb a nearby ladder twice daily to hang a hummingbird feeder over our front step.

Mama Phoebe initially responded to our shenanigans by flying out of the nest whenever we left or entered the house. She soon adapted her behaviors depending upon her level of comfort with our activities, sometimes flying away, sometimes staying put. But, now … Now we have new babies. We saw two fuzzy heads, beaks protruding over the side of the nest, yesterday. (We hope that there are two more huddled somewhere deeper in the nest.)

For the next few weeks Mama and Papa Phoebe will engage in almost-constant insect hunting in order to feed their young. They’ll time their feedings to correspond with the demands of their babies as well as the comings and goings of their human cohabiters.

And, guess what? Their babies will survive … and quite likely, thrive. There’s a lesson in this for me, I know.